Hope in Faith is a Backward Way of Thinking
by MissMousie
Summary: Bakura, a fearless thief, befriends the son of one of his richest victims. As their unlikely bond grows stronger, he becomes unwilling to part with the child when it comes time to leave. Thiefshipping
1. Prologue

**Hope in Faith is a Backward Way of Thinking**

**Pairing:** Thiefshipping (Bakura/Malik)  
**Chapter Rating:** T  
**Warning:** This is a morally unsympathetic fanfiction. Expect lemons, shotacon, rape, violence, swearing, and death. Among other things I don't want to put warnings for in fear of spoiling the story. Please do not read any further if you're easily offended. I will not be help responsible for upsetting you with what I've written if you've disregarded my warning.  
**Author's Note:** The first bit of this story is somewhat based on (moreso just inspired by) the doujinshi "Color of Life", so if it looks familiar, that's why. I haven't really sat down to write anything in a good long time and I'm a bit rusty. I'll do my best to keep this updated, but I'm lazy, so expect them sparadically. And um, try to brace for typos and minor grammatical errors; I have no beta reader.  
**Disclaimer:** -_insert smartass message about how I don't own Yu-Gi-Oh! and what I'd do if I did here_-

* * *

  
In the heat of the midsummer night, the frantic cries of animals broke out across the vast manicured lawns of the Ishtar estate. Dogs, specifically, guard dogs, barking frivolously at what could only be an intruder. Despite the size of the mansion, the noise roused everyone resting soundly in their beds to the din. Alarms raised and servants frenzied, lights were hurriedly lit and doors and windows locked.

The Ishtar's never got intruders. Their property was too massive and well-guarded for such events to occur. Who on this forsaken Earth was mad enough to attempt such a daringly foolish act? It was the thought racing through everybody's minds. Many too stunned that something so unlikely was happening to respond in a desirable manner.

Odion was the first to work up the courage to investigate the scene outside. Striding confidently up to the front door where the dogs were being the loudest, clearly directly on the other side, Odion hesitated only for a moment before reaching out for the doorknob. Before he could grasp it, however, the door was ripped violently open, and a bloodied mess stumbled inside. Odion staggered backwards in surprise, nearly toppling over. Collective gasps and shrieks from the maids rose from behind him, where they were hanging back out of fear.

The door slammed shut just as violently as it had been opened, a few yelps from dogs that had been hit by the heavy wood erupting from the other side. The man who had caused so much turmoil leaned back against the door before dropping haphazardly, landing in an disheveled, slumped wreck on the marbled floor. Streaks of blood ran down the mahogany where he'd slid down it.

"_Bakura_?" was the name being repeatedly whispered and growled. Odion could only stare...

The man in question was exactly who they thought he was. Out of breath and in incredible pain, it took all he was worth to pull his legs out from under him so he could rest his bleeding arms on his knees in a more comfortable position. A scratchy chuckle rumbled up from Odion's feet where Bakura sat, blood dripping from various bites all over his body. His battered jeans were torn open at the knees where the tattered flesh bore dirt and gravel, his greasy hair ripped and sloven, deep scratches marred the pale, sweaty flesh of his face and neck.  
And yet still, he laughed as if this was the most normal thing in the world.

"What?" he rasped. "No formalities? I'd expect as much from _you_, at least, dearest Odion." He coughed sharply, not bothering to cover his mouth.  
"We thought you were dead, master Bakura. You haven't been home in weeks, your belongings left untouched, and we were left with no means of contact."  
Bakura merely smirked in response.

"I trust my things have not been removed. I'm surprised nobody suspected anything when I'd paid two months rent at once," the white-haired man retorted after some time. He made no eye contact as he spoke, choosing instead to hang his head stiffly, staring uninterestedly at the droplets of blood accumulating on the ground around him.

"Your belongings have not been touched, at the request of the young master-"

"Bakura!" A shrill voice broke through the scene, the soft thupping of feet on the polished floor was at first the only sign anybody was arriving, until a young boy, no older than twelve, dashed in through the extravagant archway leading to the main part of the house. Pale blonde hair whipping behind him, a hopeful expression gracing his soft features.

Within moments he'd pushed past the mansion's servants, who had created a small crowd near the door. He skidded to a halt, blood running cold at the sight that met his wide, lavender eyes. "_Bakura_!" he cried, his voice radiating a choked combination of relief and horror. He darted to the older boy's side, and kneeled in front of him, after having carelessly shoved Odion out of the way. "Oh Ra, Bakura. You're... _You're_..." Words failed him as he reached a trembling hand out to the man's bleeding face. He halted before actually touching the chilled flesh of his cheek, afraid he may hurt him, and dropped his arm.

"Why... Where did you go, Bakura? You're hurt! Why did... You... Should've..." The boy's voice shook before he suddenly let out a terrified sob. Bakura blinked at him, not knowing what to say that would soothe him. A chatter slowly rose from the servants standing around them before they broke apart to go about taking care of the situation. Bakura had returned, preparations were to be made. The word was to be spread! The alarms turned off, the dogs calmed, the master informed...

Bakura had abruptly lost all interest in the things going on around him not pertaining to the weeping child on his knees in front of him.  
"Malik," he whispered, as softly as his dry, hoarse throat would allow. Malik gazed up at him, a wall of tears blurred his vision, and he wiped at his eyes so to meet Bakura's gaze. Dirty, moist bangs shrouded the man's eyes from Malik's view, but Bakura could see him, and he was watching him intently.  
"Don't cry, Malik. I'm home now." A soft smile curled his chapped lips reassuringly, and Malik stared at him for a moment, before he replied with his own weak smile, hiccuping back the tears that hadn't quite finished falling.

Malik abruptly stood up, his silk night gown now wrinkled, with specks of red from the floor marring the hem. He reached his hands down to Bakura.  
"Please, Bakura. Stand up. We have to get you somewhere where my father can't see you. He'll be very upset, and the servants are surely on their way to tell him you're back, as we speak."  
The boy was wise far beyond his years, and he knew he was right, but he was so sore, so tired...

"I... Can't," Bakura murmured. He wanted to, he wanted to do whatever Malik asked of him. But he could barely sit upright.  
"_Please_! Please try!" Malik pleaded, his voice cracking again, the tears threatening to come back as he grasped Bakura's frozen hands. It was warm outside, why was he so cold...

"Perhaps I can help," Odion tentatively made his presence known as he squatted down beside Bakura, who painfully moved his head enough to see the tall man out of the corner of his eye.  
"Oh, Odion..." Malik started, looking momentarily lost, before his gaze sharpened. "Bring him to my room, quickly, I'll go distract father."

Odion slipped Bakura's left arm over his shoulder, and wrapped his other arm around his ribs. Bakura groaned in protest, gritting his teeth against the pain, but allowed himself to be hoisted to his feet, regardless. Malik, now certain Bakura was (literally) in good hands, began in the direction of his father's study. He hadn't gotten far before he skidded to a halt and turned on his heel.

"Odion, once he's in my room, sit him in the bathroom with a blanket, then turn out the lights and leave. Bakura, stay quiet. If father finds you're in my room... I... Don't want to know what he'd do..." Bakura blinked at Malik, such brilliance, always thinking on his feet. Odion nodded in understanding and returned to assisting Bakura as he walked him down the vast corridor and up to the grand staircase. Bakura watched over his shoulder at Malik, whose eyes sparkled with determination, before darting off again.

The struggle up the staircase was quite possibly the worst part of the whole ordeal. Sixty-eight steps with a sprained ankle. Not to mention an awkward run-in with one of the maids. Malik's bedroom was the very last room at the end of the long corridor on the second floor. Two more long hallways spanned out from either side of the large decorative door, making the room appear to be some kind of centerpiece.

Odion leaned Bakura against the wall next to the door as he reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a large ring of identical keys. Without looking at them, he parted them to reveal the one he wanted and proceeded to unlock the door. It didn't seem possible to Bakura, to be able to put a door to each and every one of the fifty plus keys on the ring without looking. He supposed, though, that these things become second nature to you after a while.

Odion reached in and flicked on a light switch next to the door, soaking the room in a rich yellowy glow, before dragging an increasingly annoyed Bakura inside. He wasted no time kicking the door shut with his foot. Odion led him unceremoniously into the private bathroom straight across the room.

He didn't need Odion's assistance to flop onto the tiled floor. He gazed around the bathroom with mild curiosity, as he'd never been in it before. It was surprisingly small, compared to the other lavatories in the mansion. The walls and ceiling were painted a dark brown, and everything else was a sandy color. Various other things, such as towels, the bathmat, even the small toothbrush in it's holder, were all purple. Lavender, more specifically. The color he identified to be Malik's favorite.

He hadn't noticed Odion's absence until the brawny man returned with a large soft blanket. He placed it over Bakura's shoulders, and then stepped back.  
"Is there anything else I can do for you before I leave, master Bakura?"  
Bakura was slightly distracted by the smell of cinnamon, as he was trying to place where the source was. He looked up at him and blinked.  
"Turn the heater on," he stated simply. Odion nodded and fiddled with the switches on the wall across from the sink for a moment before looking over his shoulder at Bakura.

"It seems the young master is quite fond of you, to so willingly put himself in line of fire of his father's wrath to ensure your safety," he turned around completely, now satisfied with the temperature on the dials. "If I'm not stepping out of line to say so, I believe you owe him your thanks."

Bakura adverted his gaze and grunted, staring at a bath toy leaning against the tub. Odion said no more and flicked off the light, then closed the door. Bakura sat awkwardly in the darkness for a few moments, until he became aware of a small night light, giving off just enough light that he could still see the toy.  
Blinking, he reached out and picked it up. A smallish plush seahorse, purple of course. It was still somewhat damp to the touch, suggesting it had been immersed in water quite recently. He smirked.  
"Oh, the things you've seen."

He chuckled after he realized that he'd just spoken to a _toy_. About improper thoughts, no less. "Must've lost more blood than I thought."

* * *

About an hour later, he awoke to the sound of the door to the bathroom opening, and the blood still sitting in his veins ran cold. Had he been discovered? His body sat completely frozen, pressed tight against the wall next to the tub. He subconsciously tightened the blanket around himself, as if it would help to hide him.  
Suddenly, light flooded the room, blinding him until his eyes focused enough to dart up to the boy standing in the doorway.  
"Bakura?"  
He smiled. "I'm okay, Malik."

The Egyptian walked over and kneeled in front of him. "I'm sorry that took so long, but it was a mess. I had to talk my way out of leaving my homework, and about you coming back with all those stupid servants there trying to convince him otherwise. And you hurt one of the dogs, father wasn't impressed with that..."

He rambled on and on, his voice shaking a little, the puffiness around his eyes making it clear he'd been crying, but was being brave in Bakura's presence.  
"Anyway, he wound up going to bed, so we don't have to worry about him finding you in here for now..." As he spoke, he gently removed the blanket from it's comforting embrace around Bakura. Malik paused in his speech, looking down into the man's lap.  
"Bubbles...?" He questioned softly, no mockery in his tone.  
Bakura looked down, too, to see the bath toy resting on his thigh. He picked it up and examined it again. "I was looking at it," he explained, embarrassment evident in his voice. He placed the toy in the boy's hands. "It's cute."_ Like you_, he added mentally.

Malik gazed at the toy for a moment, then set it aside.  
"You're hurt... We can't get you a professional. Let me help you, okay?" Malik voiced meekly. Bakura answered with his eyes.  
"Um... You'll... Need to bathe first. Your wounds must be cleaned," the blonde stated awkwardly.

Bakura could have laughed at the situation, and how easy it could be to take advantage of, but he didn't.  
"I've been slipping in and out of consciousness for a while now," he lied. "I think it'd be best if you were here."  
In honesty, Bakura felt quite rejuvenated after his short rest, and he didn't need to be nursed by a child. But Bakura was never an honest man. He leaned forward and pulled his dirty white shirt t-shirt over his head. He placed his hands on his belt before chancing a glance at Malik. The child was blushing furiously, his brows furrowed as he glared at the floor, desperately trying not to stare. Bakura smiled and helped himself up by grabbing onto the edge of the counter. He stood awkwardly on his good foot and removed the remainder of his clothing. Without being told, Malik had pulled back the glass door and started up the bath, fooling with the taps until the water was warm. Without looking at Bakura, he sat back and murmured "It's ready."

Bakura hobbled over to the tub, and felt as Malik gently took hold of his arm, helping lower him into the water. He hissed as the warm water touched his bites and scrapes. He eventually eased back into the tub, the water having gone from painful to soothing. He opened his eyes, which he'd screwed shut at first, and gazed up at Malik, who was busying himself finding various soaps and digging around in the cupboard under the sink for the softest washcloth he could find.

He padded over to the tub and set the supplies on the floor next to it. Kneeling, he picked up the washcloth and dropped it in the water to get it wet. Bakura smirked as the child's curious eyes defied him, scanning up to the albino's taut, battered body. He momentarily met his gaze and Malik shied away, flustered. Bakura cocked his head a little at him. "It's going to be uncomfortable for you to have to lean all the way over to me to treat my wounds." Malik said nothing, only nodded slightly, reading the label of a bottle of liquid soap before setting it down and picking up another.  
"Why don't you come in here?"

Malik started and stared at Bakura, wide-eyed. "Huh?"  
"Come into the tub with me. You'll be able to reach better," he suggested, attempting you make his gravelly voice sound innocent, and not succeeding very well. Malik was still blushing furiously, his face bright red as he gaped in shock at Bakura. "But..."  
"You can keep your clothes on," Bakura chuckled, knowing what Malik meant even before he said it.

Malik hesitated, moving his gaze down to his hands, now sitting idly in his lap. After a moment of contemplation, he sat up onto his haunches and then carefully crawled into the tub, sinking down into the warm water between Bakura's legs. His stained nightgown floating out around him in an endearing manner, especially to Bakura's hungry eyes. He leaned over the side of the tub to retrieve the special soap he'd picked out, and... The bath toy.

Bakura blinked curiously at him. "I don't like having baths without Bubbles," Malik explained. He placed it in the water, and to Bakura's surprise, it stayed upright, floating at the surface. Malik prattled on about how it did that because of a buoy in the center of it, and the science behind how that worked, but Bakura wasn't paying attention anymore. He was entranced by the boy's lithe, nubile body, almost totally exposed due to the water that hugged the fabric to it. He could see everything. How the child's chest would rise and fall with each breath, every rib on his far too thin torso, his nipples, erect at the sensation of the water...

He barked in surprise when he suddenly felt a sharp stinging sensation in his knee. Malik was carefully cleaning away the dirt and gravel with the bar of soap and washcloth. His knees were in bad condition, the flesh more _shredded_ than _scraped_. He grit his teeth against the pain, and distracted himself by continuing to stare at Malik.

It took a long time to get all of his wounds clean. At some point, Malik had gotten quite comfortable in the tub with Bakura and continued to bathe him properly- something Bakura probably could have done himself- even going as far as to wash his hair. Conversation was kept to a bare minimum. The silence only broken ever so often by soft "ow"s from Bakura and Malik counting his injuries. He'd been bitten sixteen times, mostly on his calves and forearms. The sides of his hands, his elbows, and of course his knees were badly scraped from where he'd braced a long fall over a fence onto the concrete below. He also had a fairly large chunk of hair torn from his scalp, enough to have made it bleed. Not to mention countless bruises, a deep cut on his face, and the sprained ankle.

After some time Malik stood up and stepped out of the tub, his night gown soaked all the way through. He placed a towel across the toilet seat and turned back at Bakura. Bakura had to fight not to stare at him while he was watching. Malik smiled warmly at him and held out his hands for Bakura to grasp.  
"It's okay, I think I can manage," he muttered, heaving himself out of the water, he stepped out of the tub onto his good leg and spun at an angle so he could drop onto the seat. Malik's expression hardened just a little. "You're very stubborn, Bakura."  
"Yeah, well. I don't like feeling helpless."

Malik didn't argue and proceeded to dry Bakura off. Bakura bit his lip at the sensation of those small hands behind the plush towel, stroking the water from his body. All too soon those hands were gone. He looked up to see Malik had retrieved a first aid kit.

The sting of alcohol and various antibacterial cleansers numbed his growing state of arousal. Much gauze was used, among bandaids and tenser bandages for his knees and ankle. Eventually Malik sat back and examined his work. After a moment of awkward silence, he stood. "Um. Stay here. I'll go get you some clothes."

Bakura was left, yet again, feeling useless. He busied himself by draining the bathtub and putting everything away- not an easy task in his current state. He'd only been sitting down again for minute or two when a panting Malik rushed back in, a clean pair of jeans and a black t-shirt folded neatly against his chest, his arms wrapped tight around them.

"Are you oka-"  
"I was almost caught," Malik huffed out before Bakura could finish. Bakura didn't press the matter and took the clothes from Malik, laying them in his lap. "... No boxers?"  
Malik turned away, now finding the door interesting. "I didn't want to root through that drawer." Bakura smiled at him, although he wasn't looking, and struggled into his clothes. He sat back down on the toilet seat, and crossed his hands in his lap.

"Thankyou, Malik," Bakura suddenly stated, remembering what Odion'd said earlier.

Malik looked up at him, surprised by his words.  
"Oh... No, it's nothing. Really," Malik assured, blushing for the zillionth time that night. Bakura shook his head. "Don't be so modest. It took guts to stand up to your father for me coming back. After all I did..." He trailed off for a moment. "I really have no business here, anymore. Everyone can see that, even me."  
"Don't talk like that!" Malik shouted, suddenly panicked. He dropped to his knees in front of Bakura, gripping his sore hands tightly, his own trembling slightly.

His voice hitched with emotion. "Please... I... I was so lost when you left. You didn't say goodbye, and they all thought you died. But I told them you were still alive, and I made them keep your room, and made sure they didn't lie to anybody about you passing. And I was right, and you're back, and oh Ra please don't leave again!" Malik began to sob uncontrollably, his lavender eyes wide open and glistening with tears. He stared directly into Bakura's eyes, and the man suddenly felt so exposed under that pleading gaze. He stared straight into them, mezmorized by their sincerity, and the ever-present innocence of youth.

"Please... You're the only friend I've ever had."  
Bakura didn't know how to respond. His mind told him to tell the truth of his plans, but his heart cried out far louder than his logic. He gently removed his hands from Malik's vice-like hold on them, to gently pull the boy into his arms.

"I'll stay for you."

Malik released a shuddering breath of relief, and he wrapped his arms around Bakura's back, burying his face into his chest. His tears slowed to a stop quite quickly as Bakura hushed him, gently stroking his back in what he assumed was a soothing gesture.

Malik yawned loudly, exhausted from his weeping and stood up and away from Bakura. "They'll question you if you go back to your room. You can sleep here with me. We'll deal with them tomorrow, together. Okay?"  
Bakura was tired, too. His desperate escape during the night and the events that followed having sapped every ounce of energy in him, the short nap he had failing to do much in the long run. He was too tired to even consider taking advantage of having to sleep with Malik... Especially not after what the boy'd just said to him.

Malik had changed into a dry nightgown and underwear before going back into the bathroom to fetch Bakura. He helped him over to the massive queen-sized bed he normally had all to himself. Bakura sat at the end and watched as Malik rushed about preparing for bed.  
It didn't take long, however, and soon Malik crawled into the bed behind him, having turned off every light except for the lamp on his bedside table. He picked up a brush from his dresser, and sat himself behind Bakura. No permission was needed as Malik gently started working out the nasty tangles in Bakura's colorless hair.

"Malik," Bakura started.  
"Yeah?"  
The man sat quietly for a moment, enjoying the feeling of the Egyptian's fingers working through his hair with the brush. "Why do you do all of this for me? Ever since we met, I'd done nothing but take advantage of you, and yet you still treat me with the highest regard. I don't understand your motivations."  
Malik's hands stilled for a moment before continuing.  
"Hope, I guess. Father always said I was too trusting, but I don't want to believe that's a vice," he explained, his voice a low murmur in his sleepiness, soft and laced with a lingering sadness.

_Hope_ and_ trust _were two things Bakura carried little of. Malik truly was his opposite.  
He couldn't think of anything to say to the boy as he finished with his hair and put the brush back. He crawled under the covers and got comfortable, before lifting the other side of it for Bakura to join him. He did so with some difficulty, careful not to agitate his injuries.

Malik reached out and turned off the light, and they were engulfed by a cozy, yet somewhat smothering darkness. Bakura was lulled nearly to sleep by the gentle sound of Malik's breathing, but he felt sleep wasn't quite ready yet, and he was right.

"Bakura?"  
"Hm?"  
"I'm... Right to have faith in you, aren't I?"

Bakura was silent. _Faith_? Malik had _faith_ in him? In someone so lowly and despicable?  
"I... Hope so," he answered genuinely.

He held in a gasp as he felt Malik move to cuddle against him, sugar-sweet breaths ghosting over his face.  
No more words were needed as Bakura let loose all reservations and morality and pressed a light, chaste kiss to Malik's supple lips. Malik purred in response and nuzzled his head against Bakura's neck as the man draped an arm over him.

_To have hope in faith is a backward way of thinking, yet, it may just be worth it_, Bakura thought as he was consumed by the most contented sleep he'd ever had.  
_  


* * *

___

To be continued...


	2. Chapter 1: Golden Sand

**Chapter Rating:** T  
**Author's Note: **Oh my _God_, okay. I'm seriously sorry for the delay. Wicked bad artist's block was agonizing, but I think I'm over it now.  
I was also stuck in a rut with this story for a while. For some reason, I just found it so ridiculously hard to write the first half of the chapter with Malik (which is what I was trying to grind through that whole time), and yet I wrote all of Bakura's half in one sitting. Wtf.  
Interaction scenes are so much easier, they just... Flow. I imagine once Bakura and Malik meet properly it'll be much easier to write, I mean the prologue only took a few hours to write in two sittings. Gah. Whatever.  
Oh, also, I wanted to send thanks to my amazing reviewers, omfg I love you guys. I want all of your babies, you make me feel like I'm not a shitty neglectful author. This is for you, my beauties. *tear*

* * *

  
Malik sat silently on his window seat, eyes dull in contemplation. The boy was gazing longingly out the window of his lavish bedroom, down at the massive courtyard below it, his thoughts loud and intrusive as he examined the property from his post two stories above.  
It was essentially a huge, cramped garden. Large, beautifully preened exotic plants from all ends of the world bloomed, splaying out and enveloping the area in all their wondrous glory. Every marvelous shade of green one can imagine graced their leaves, shimmering in the warm sunlight. The yard was also littered with statues of various Egyptian cats, painstakingly carved from orbicular granite, sitting proud and erect upon blocks of solid obsidian. They lined the expensive marble walkways that were swept and polished every day, and it all led to a giant, extravagant fountain in the middle of the courtyard. It's crystalline water towered nearly twenty feet in the air, sprouting forth from the end of a sceptre, clutched in the hand of the Goddess Ma'at. A sizable variety of flowers added a brilliant array of vibrant colors to the scene, and incredible ivy vines coated the thick, looming dry stone walls, built to completely block out the outside world from Malik's curious eyes.  
Oh, how we wanted to go out and _play_.

Malik was very rarely allowed out of the house, and wasn't even allowed out of his bedroom unsupervised. He'd been into the beautiful courtyard but eight time in his eleven years of life. Usually on his Birthday, and only if he'd been "_exceptionally good_" that year. And once, when he was very young, he'd snuck out. He had been blessed with his mother's craftiness and resourcefulness, and it had paid off. After almost half an hour of dodging servants and hiding behind doors, he'd managed to make it out through a side door. He frolicked carelessly amongst the still life about him, and for once, he was truly happy.  
However, he'd decided a few hours of fun amongst the tropical haven outside his window was not worth the weeks of punishment he'd have to endure afterwards.

He breathed dejectedly against the cool glass of the large window, placing a small hand against it as he watched a tiny white butterfly flap past. He'd never once been outside while it was sunny.

Malik eventually tore his gaze away from the garden, now convinced his father had given this room to tease him with the big window that so few rooms in the mansion had. He looked back down at the papers and textbooks surrounding him and let out a long-suffering sigh, before plopping down amongst them once more. Stupid tutor had left him with so much work today. It'd surely be impossible to finish it all before bed time! He picked up a pencil and twirled it between his fingers, resting his head in his hand as he watched it spin.

Ra, he was so_ bored_!

_Father's mean_, Malik thought bitterly to himself. He didn't know much about other kids (as he'd never met anyone under the age of twenty) but he was certain other boys were allowed to go out and play, at the very least. He was also certain they had playmates and lots of toys and breaks from their schoolwork. He was certain of this because Odion had told him so, and Odion had been able to experience outside life before they'd taken him in.

Malik had a very large, very comfy, and very well furnished bedroom. However, it was clearly not designed for a child. He was allowed very few toys, as his father was convinced that if he had too many, it would distract from his schoolwork. And Malik had a lot of schoolwork.  
A private tutor came once a day, (except on his Birthday) every day of the week, every week of the month, every month of the year. He liked his tutors, they'd tell him what it was like outside, and sometimes they'd bring him treats or small gifts if he was exceeding in his work.  
His favorite tutor would bring him photographs whenever he did well. Photographs she'd take of whatever he'd ask. Photographs of lots of incredible things from outside, marvelous things, amazing things! Photo's of buildings and people and animals, all sorts of stuff he could only dream of seeing in person. He had a good sized collection of these pictures, and he hid them well behind the drawer of his desk. Because he knew that if father found them, he'd be punished.

He never understood why his father wanted so desperately to hide him away from the rest of the world. Even with his constant schooling, his thirst for knowledge could never seem to be quenched. He wanted more than anything in the world to get out of the mansion, past the stone barrier of the courtyard, across the hundreds of yards of lawn, over the fifteen foot tall fence that surrounded the property, down the five mile driveway, and at long last, into the city. He wanted to live! He wanted adventure, and he wanted companionship!

But alas, it was not to be. Father had once told him that when he died, Malik would take his place. He would inherit his fortune and the mansion, and all his other worldly possessions, and he had also said that by then, he'd understand why he was never allowed out.  
But Malik very much doubted that! He knew the first thing he'd do when he inherited it all, was to at long last go _outside_!  
He spent many more minutes fantasizing about what it was like outside his lonely little world, when he suddenly heard a knock on his door. He looked over his shoulder, surprised. He smiled when he saw the gentle, brotherly expression gracing Odion's tattooed face.

"Hello, Odion!" Malik chirped in greeting.  
"Hello, master Malik," Odion replied, stepping in before quietly shutting the door behind him. He walked over to Malik's place on the floor under the window.  
"Are you working hard?" the man questioned lightly, settling next to his adoptive brother.  
Malik grumbled in reply. "I tried, got about half of it done, but it's so hard to pay attention sometimes."

Odion watched Malik quietly as the boy sprawled out on the soft cream-colored carpet, sighing restlessly. He closed his eyes to the work around him, content to just forget about it for a moment. The elder smiled sadly, _poor child_. Odion hadn't exactly had an amazing life, either, but he couldn't imagine what it must be like for him to have lived _eleven years_ without ever leaving the property.  
His eyes drifted down to the various textbooks littering the floor like garbage. It was like it was strangling Malik; suffocating him. Sucking out the tiny amount of joy left in him. It was painful to watch him develop in such a backward motion. Learning, but not learning at all.  
It was pointless, really, and utterly despairing.

It was after several minutes of a thoughtful quiet that Odion spoke. "It must be tough for you, Malik... Most kids your age don't get half the schoolwork you do," he paused a moment, mulling over what he had said, before deciding to counterbalance his words. "Then again, they finish much, much later than you will."  
Malik lifted his head a little, opening his eyes somewhat to gaze at his brother. "How much later... ?" He murmured in question.  
"Oh, I believe most students finish high school around age eighteen. You'll be done by your thirteenth Birthday."  
Malik sat himself upright, gazing fully at the other. "Really? They'd be grown ups by the time they're finished!"  
Odion grinned at him, giving a curt nod. Malik was intrigued, this was good. "Then after that, they can go to college for a few more years. Then University after that. Depending on what they plan on doing with their careers, some people have to stay in school until their thirties.  
"You see Malik, in a way, this is fortunet. Your father has no schooling planned for you after you're done high school, so you'll have all the free time in the world."

Malik's bright smile wavered slightly, before he dropped his head solemnly. Odion frowned as well, puzzled by this reaction. What had he said?  
"But I have nothing to do with my free time, Odion," he murmured. "All I've ever done is schoolwork."  
Odion blinked, thinking about this for a moment. _Oh_. Well, that makes sense.  
He was rapt with his thoughts, had he not discussed Malik's oppression with their father recently? What had he said...  
Odion perked up once he had remembered.  
"Didn't your father say that you couldn't have any toys because they'd distract you from your work? If you were done, he wouldn't have to worry about that anymore."

Malik contemplated this, lifting his head again to meet Odion's stare. "Are you sure that's not just wishful thinking?" The boy muttered, though his tone was optimistic.  
Odion laughed softly. "No. I'm not. But it seems logical, doesn't it?"  
Malik's wide, toothy smile came back and he nodded. "It does!" Malik cast a quick glance at the window before looking back at Odion. "Think he'll let me go outside, too?"

As Odion's smile dropped, so did the hope in Malik's heart.  
"Honestly Malik, I don't know."  
Odion looked away, he couldn't bare the somber, faraway look in Malik's lilac eyes at this revelation.

But he couldn't lie to the child, either.  
As much as he loved his brother, it was often difficult to speak to him, as there was little they could talk about that wouldn't tread emotional ground.

Malik nodded slightly, dropping his head again. He expected as much, but he couldn't help but be disappointed.  
"Master Malik, I'm sorr-"  
"Don't worry, Odion. It's not your fault." He picked up a pencil, his hand trembling a little. "Anyway, we don't know for sure. Father's unpredictable."  
Odion could see the tears welling in Malik's eyes, and he already knew that Malik hated crying while others were around.  
So, sensing that he needed some time on his own, Odion sat up onto his haunches.  
"Well, I'd better go..."  
The boy looked up at him after scribbling something down distractedly on one of the many papers around him. "Come back later?"  
Odion stood up the rest of the way and nodded. "Of course. Try to stay happy, okay?"  
Malik smiled, but said nothing more as the other left the room.

Alone.

Malik was almost always alone. His tutors were around for about four or five hours every day, and Odion brought him his meals and came to check on him periodically at his father's request, but other than that, he was completely and utterly alone.  
Ishizu was under no restriction from their father, and was able to come and go as she pleased. However, she was not on good terms with the family for reasons that had never been explained to Malik, so she wasn't around very much. She always came and played with him when she did visit, doting upon him, making sure he _was_ happy...  
Malik loved his siblings dearly. They tried their best to lure him away from the depression that he was very gradually sinking into over the years.

How pathetic was it, that such a bright and promising child was becoming depressed? All children need to advance emotionally and ethically to keep a healthy mind. But Malik's mental development was in a rather extreme degree of neglect.  
Malik knew this. He thought by knowing this that he could somehow avoid it. But he was wrong. His socially unstimulated mind was beginning to decay at the edges. He found himself occasionally having fantasies of his father dieing as his resentment for him grew.  
Malik sat alone in his room for around ten hours every day, with only his imagination to keep him company.

He'd grown afraid of it.

He found himself thinking dark thoughts far too often for comfort, and he feared what lurked in his head.  
Then again. It may not have been entirely his imagination. Memory could also be a contributing factor.

When he was merely two years old, he had witnessed his mother's death. Although, he was too young to remember the event, or what had happened. He often asked the few people in his life what had happened to her, but he never got a straight answer, if he was even graced with one at all. He found it incredibly frustrating. Not so much the loss of his mother as much as not having an explanation as to why. The lack of a potential companion was what upset him most. He was fully aware of his loneliness, and he was infuriated by it. Why should he have to be alone? What had he done to deserve such a miserable life?

Of course... That wasn't his only problem. He was unhealthy physically as well. Although it was obvious why he was so weak; lack of fresh air, sunlight, and exercise. He was heavily supplemented to make up for it, and cups of pills were brought up with his meals, but they didn't seem to be helping anymore.  
Malik's descent was picking up in speed quite rapidly. During bouts of excessive, painful boredom, he'd occasionally find himself hitting himself against any solid surface. He'd hit his arms against his desk or windowsill, or bash his head against his walls or headboard. He became morbidly fascinated by the pain and bruising his actions caused, and it gave him something to dwell on for an hour or so. He was always careful as to not have his bruising somewhere obvious. He didn't want Odion worrying about him.  
Besides, it's not like he was hurting anybody in the long run, right? The bruises were just on the surface. Right. They'll go away. They always go away. All of them.

Malik wondered if he was thinking about the bruises, or his family.

* * *

Bakura had thought this through.  
He had looked at it from every angle, had taken it apart and put it back together more complete. He had spent weeks picking it apart and researching, days studying maps and blueprints of roads and escape routes, hours upon hours piecing together the plan to get in, even longer for the one to get out. Laying out plan Bs and Cs and Ds in case of potential failure. He spent three whole months polishing out every last little flaw in his grand scheme.  
His gang had oh-so-conspicuously named it "Project Ishtar", but Bakura had a special name for it. It was his treasure; his masterpiece. It would be his greatest plot yet, and he refused to fail.

He had named it "Golden Sand".  
_Something seemingly insignificant can always hold value_, was a lesson he was taught as a child, and it was a lesson he held close.  
It was why he chose the name, that, and a short poem about greed.

"When mind and matter work as one,  
Shifting sands turn to gold,  
All things fixed will come undone,  
The head grows dank and the heart grows cold."

It was the only other set of words that found themselves clinging to the recesses of Bakura's mind.  
Sand, endless grains of rock and mineral, countless, and worthless.  
But gold.  
Gold was a mineral far fewer. Gold was where his money was made, where his food came from, what gave him life.

And Bakura knew that surely, gold was of no higher value than sand to the Ishtar's.  
Or to any other gratuitously rich fuck, for that matter, completely undeserving of such wealth. While he sat in the slums with the other unfortunate losers who had nothing.

He had no idea where the assemblage of criminals he hesitantly called his brothers found out about the reclusive Egyptian family. He had no mind to ask, for it mattered little to him. This may have been his best work, but it was still only a job. He didn't have time for wasting sympathy on a family he didn't know.  
All he needed to know about them was that they were obscenely filthy fucking rich, and that was good enough for Bakura. The others didn't think so, though.  
It was insisted that if Bakura found out every other detail of their lives, than the people themselves needed to be researched as well.

He had begrudgingly accepted these terms, but it was only because his reputation within the restricting walls of the band was beginning to diminish with his inactivity. He cursed it. He brought in the most money of any other thief in the syndicate. He preferred to work himself senseless on one huge haul and then retire for months at a time, instead of constantly busying himself with many smaller jobs. Others had dared call this behaviour lazy of him, but he would always remind them how it _really_ was.  
It had always puzzled him why he didn't hold higher status.

He shrugged it off as he reclined against the new, but already hopelessly damaged leather couch. Laying amongst tares, stains, and cigarette burns, the seventeen year old fingered through a small pile of papers, carefully reading about the family members.  
Information was gathered by lowers in his gang while he worked out his part of the scheme. The whole heist was going to be his doing as it was, why should he have to do extra work for something he thought unnecessary?

Seems there were three living family members.  
There was a miscarriage, and the mother died a year or two later. Interesting.  
There was a father, known for his temper and shady demeanor. He was the source of the money.  
He made his fortune in business investments until he retired, built a fortress to raise his children, and was never seen in public again.  
A daughter. Went through various private schools, colleges, and universities with straight As and honors, but never stayed in one school for more than a few months at a time. Was abruptly disowned by the father for unknown reasons.  
An adopted son, only wound up with the family by means of convenience.  
Apparently means little to the father, as he was written out of the family name.  
And... A blood son.  
_Strange. So little is written here_, Bakura thought offhandedly.

The albino sat up and rooted through the various stacks of paper on the table he had pulled over to the couch, assuming perhaps he had forgotten a page, but found nothing pertaining to further information on the child.  
While the other three family members profiles were accompanied by a photograph, the child's was not.  
He set the papers back down on the table and huffed in agitation.  
"So much for being thorough, assholes."

"Who are ya talking to, dumbass?"  
"The fuck do you care, Joey."

A tall blonde strode loftily into the room, a smirk set on his face beneath thick, untamed bangs.  
He stood towering over the other thief's table unwelcomely, arms crossed and head held high in a condescending manner.  
"Dey say talking to yerself is a sign of madness, ya know," the one named Joey remarked casually, dropping himself on the battered couch next to his companion.  
"And who is 'dey', exactly?" Bakura retorted, shifting through the papers once more to keep himself occupied, not really having a real document to be looking for, anymore.

The other rolled his eyes and grumbled at Bakura's stab at his accent. "_Dey_ are who make dat shit up. Anyway, I didn't actually come in here ta make fun of how crazy ya are, came in here ta tell ya dey want you to execute Project Ishtar tonight."

Bakura whirled to face the other teen, brown eyes widened and jaw slack. He furrowed his brows, incredulous to what the other had just said.  
"_What_? You have to be shitting me! Do they want me killed or something? I need more time! A week! Two weeks!"

Joey chuckled lightly at Bakura's rare show of panic. Bakura was known for being eerily collected in his mannerisms, until he was angry or working. So it was odd to see the alarm on his face at the unexpected news.  
"Baku', calm down. You've done a lot more in less time in da past. Dey already extended your planning duration like, eight ti-"  
"Six," Bakura interrupted.  
"-Six. Whatever. Look, dey don't think dis is as big of a deal as you do. Dey just want ya to get it over with already."

Bakura growled. Joey was smart enough to stay silent while Bakura fumed, adverting his gaze back to his research while he pondered the situation.  
Did they not understand his passion for this project? This wasn't some light caper, this was the real deal! Surely they wanted him to do his best, bring back as much loot and make as much money as possible. Isn't that what they wanted? Or were they just doing this to upset him? Build him up and take him down. They didn't respect him!  
_Get it over with? Those fuckers..._  
But, they were his _brothers_, however fucking contemptuous they were.

Joey watched the other curiously, attempting to read his expression and failing miserably.  
After some time, Bakura sighed loudly, before lifting his tired gaze to the other. Joey blinked at him, quirking a brow.  
"Yeah, whatever. I think I have it down now, anyway."

Joey grinned brightly and jumped up. As he strolled over to the doorway, he spoke out in a loud and yet cursory manner so representory of himself.  
"Great! I'll tell dem yer ready, den."  
"Wait, I'm not ready _yet_-"  
But the blonde was already gone.

Bakura slumped back down onto the couch, slapping his hands over his face.  
_Why do I put up with this bullshit._

* * *

To be continued...


End file.
